Wheeling Sunday register. [volume] (Wheeling, W. Va.) 1882-1934, 1887-06-05
SISTER ANGELA.

Her Romance and Her SUFFERING Life
story, with "A Poetic Meaning, Fold III
simple Prose.
Yes, that is Sister Angela, the angel of
peace. See what a heavenly calm there is
in her eyes, what II meek, submissive look
about the Oncc proud mouth.
Did | know her?
Why, she was more than a sister TO me
in those Olden days when We were young
and life was fair. Now, when we meet,
she smiles that sweet, sanity smile,
presses my hands softly, and passes on.
| think.that the past lisa sealed book TO
her, for she never speaks OF it.
Inthe hospital wards her cOmingis like
a ray of sunlight. The suffering ones lis
ten Tor her step, and the soothing tone OF
her voice is more than medicine. Her
hands, too, arc magnetic, so cool and soft
and restful that they have power to charm
away pain.
remember the time when Sister Angelo
was a gay young girl, a reigning queen in
society's most brilliant realm; but those
days seem very far away when | look at
her now in her quiet black robes. Often
times there will steal over her face n apt
look, Us of some one listening TO iar-away
music. Nothing ever rullleS that serenity,
And yet hers is u sad story. Not an UNI
common one, perhaps, but very pathetic.
God be thanked that it is blOttcd out from
her remembrance.
| can recall the day she came to tell me
pI n ,rrnpt hnnpfnapg ,Nli,h l,l ,n,, ;n4,
her life. She loved him deeply, fervently
with all the strength Of which her na-
ture was capable. She was young and had
seen little OF the world. She thought him
her ideal of manhood. In her eyes he was
the embodiment Of everything good and
true. She poured out the wealth of her
affection upon him, purely, unselfshly.
But one day her idol crumbled to ashes,
her castle in the air dissolved into mist.
And she had loved him so!
The shock was terrible. For weeks she
lowered between this world and the next.
Her ievered rawlings were pitiiui to hear.
After the crisis was passed weknew that
she would live, but she never spoke of him
atterward. That sacred temple where his
image had been cnshrined was an empty,
NNoNlNtu NhdlllbNl III ltI HttlIl. one tslltu
no more for the world and its pleasures.
The past was a blank to her. Even the
sight of his picture failed to move her, and
she asked me, with such Il panied, puzzled
expression i'll her beautiful eyes, who il
was. She shuddered slightly afterwards,
and begged me to put it away. She used
to love flowers pasSionately, but now she
said they made her faint. Her piano WAS
untouched, and her harp had Il broken
string. by and by she had her wish and
she became q sister. Her once Joyous life
music is all in a minor KEY now. Her
sunny brown hair is hidden away beneath
that SOmbrc veil. Her eyes are like
glimpSeS of an Italian sky, clear, ~translu-
cent, azurr-tintcd, with now and then a
look which is iudescribablc.
Sister Angela has never studied philos-
ply. h great scientific questions of the
day, the theological discussions and bick-
crings, the petty demands and foiblcs of
fashion, the endless search for gold. he
political and social warfare never enter or
touch her life. She only strives TO aIlav
suffering and care for the homeless. desert
cd ones. Yet II you should tell her that
she is Il heroine, she would shade her head
gravcly, and you would see that nnined
puzzled look in her beautiful sanity ewes,
Plainly she has forgotten the DAYS of
youth. She cannot remember the time
when she was not Sister Angela"
Her face Is like a mountain lake. shell
tered forever from the storms, not a rippIe
stirs lite surface or mars its placidity. II
is like the face of RaphaeI,s "Nadonna
Della Sidia' IN the Uflzi Gallery Of Flor
ence. There l. the same exalted express
sion OF divine purity, the same look of
calm resignation and celestial peace AS of
one who has reached IA heaven of rest after
a long and troubled journey.
A party of gay girls pass her in the
street and ~mvOluntarily their voices are
lowered To a whisper, an a,yesome busb
descends upon them. A little child pluck
ed at her dress one day, a ragged, dirty
child, IN one of the worst quarters of the
noisy city. She stopped and laid her two
hands softly, tenderly upon his head,
smllln" that misty, far-away smile, lie
thought her face that of m ANGEL and
never forgot it.
What If sometimes the past should be
revealed to her.
Perhaps some little thing-a book which
he had touched in the long ago. or a half.
forgotten perfume or an olden melody
will break the spell and in a flash. in an
instant her brain will be awakened.
But the hand Of time NAV spare her